Page 45 of Reforming Lord Neil

When he spoke, it was also without levity. “I feel much the same about you, Mrs. Clapham. Please, tuck yourself back up in bed and try to rest.” His smile returned. “As much as you can with me at work.”

Hesitantly, she reached out to grasp the latch and pulled the window closed again. Only after it was shut did he continue on his way upward. Teresa went back to bed, as ordered, her shawl pulled tightly around her.

What if Mr. Duncan never left? The question her mother had put to her, that she had avoided until that moment, seized her imagination fully, and her lips tingled when her daydreams led her back to his kiss.

Teresa had come to the cottage with no other options. She had to support her mother and daughter and needed to get far away from the poisonous fumes of her brother-in-law’s home. But nothing would keep someone like Mr. Duncan on a tiny farm. There was no fortune to be made, no opportunities to turn the dirt into gold. Even she had not found full contentment in her new station, though she had happiness with her family.

There was a noise above her head. The clatter of wood. Before long, the pounding of a hammer. She released a sigh and snuggled deeper into her blankets. Her bed creaked again. It was time to tighten the ropes with a bed wrench. She could put it off no longer.

Despite the noise of Mr. Duncan’s repair, she drifted back to sleep and into troubled dreams.

* * *

After some trial and error with the thatch, Neil took himself to Dunwich. He rode the horse, and went straight to the Lost Mermaid to inquire after the post.

“Aye, sir. You have two letters.” Mr. Jones went to his sorting boxes. “And one for Mrs. Clapham, if you would be so kind as to take it to her.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Neil accepted the folded papers and went outside, tearing the seal off one addressed to him. He recognized the handwriting, though he had seen it only once before. It was from Lady Inglewood, which somewhat surprised him. True, he had written to her, but he had not held much hope for an answer, let alone one that had to have been penned and sent the same day she received his letter.

To Mister Neil Duncan,

How strange to address you thus. I have heard of your father’s actions. He wasted no time in spreading the news throughout all our acquaintances. The whole county must know of your dismissal. One does wonder why. My husband believes the marquess intends to make a bid for a more important role within their political party. All that is supposition, however.

I gave your letter to Lord Inglewood, and he has promised to forward your inquiries to his solicitor. They will look into Mrs. Clapham’s circumstances. I will write as soon as we have news.

Nothing else in her letter was of interest. There were only a few lines asking him about his circumstances. He had to smile over that. Lady Inglewood had a kind and forgiving nature. Much unlike her husband. Flirt with the man’s wife and he never forgave you, it would seem.

Neil smirked and leaned back against the sun-warmed wall of the public house. A year ago, he had sought out a woman he had thought as lonely as he. The fact that he could humble the self-righteous and morally strict Lord Inglewood with that flirtation had made the idea even sweeter. But Lady Inglewood was loyal to her husband. Loved him, even. Which meant Neil envied Silas Riley, Lord Inglewood, all the more.

It had been foolish, of course, to attempt such a flirtation and affair. But Neil had never claimed any sort of wisdom beyond what was necessary to survive in the British peerage.

He opened the other letter, from his sister.

The first portion of her letter detailed her plans for the coming fall. Nothing of note. The latter assured him that the marquess had not relented, though their mother had started a domestic war with his lordship. She had dismissed his favorite servants, sold a prized hunter without his knowledge, invited several guests to their home whom he detested, and served nothing but the foods to which he had a personal aversion.

Neil smirked. They might seem like little things, but some wars were won with subtle tactics rather than sweeping battles.

Then he read the last lines of his sister’s letter.

“Mother has told me our secret. I hope you have not let it bother you, Neil. No one need know outside the three of us. At least you and I are fully brother and sister. But this explains why we have far better taste than our elder brothers.”

His smiled faded, as did his mood. He tucked the letters, along with the unopened letter for Teresa, into his coat pocket. Then he strode down the road to the dry good store that sold most things a person needed in a pinch.

He bought chalk for Caroline. He had noticed her supply running low. Honey for Mrs. Godwin. Coffee measured out into a tin, for all of them. He stared at the other wares. There were pencils, bottled fruits, but nothing that seemed necessary. The store clerk let Neil look, with complete patience.

“Have you anything a lady might like,” Neil asked at last, hardly believing himself. “Something pretty to look at, or use.”

The clerk, a Mr. Lane, considered the question. “There are some ribbons, just here.” He walked down his side of the counter and pulled a box of ribbons from beneath. They were brightly colored, on spools. He chose two lengths of the silvery-blue ribbon that reminded him of the shawl Teresa wore most often.

Purchases in hand, wrapped up in brown paper and string, Neil returned to the farm. He took the coffee and honey to Mrs. Godwin immediately. She showered him with praise. He left the chalk on the table next to Caroline, who smiled up at him before returning to her sums. He gave her the letter to deliver to her mother, too. But the ribbon stayed in his pocket.

How would he give it to Teresa without seeming to overstep his relationship with her?

The moment the question crossed his mind, Neil kicked a stone across the barnyard. A chicken nearly hit by the stone let loose an awful screech, hurrying away as though under attack. Neil almost smiled at the fretful bird, then sighed.

Muse’s head appeared beneath his hand. Neil looked down into the dog’s large, soulful blue eyes. “It does not matter how I give it to her. It will look like a gift from a lovesick youth.”

The dog appeared sympathetic, then it licked his hand and trotted away to the water trough for a drink. Neil looked back at the house, to Teresa’s window. The ladder was still in place. He needed to put it back in the barn where it belonged.